


As the Clock Ticked Down

by vanillalime



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Community: oz_magi, First Meetings, Flashbacks, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillalime/pseuds/vanillalime
Summary: Sparks fly when Toby and Chris meet as teenagers during a heated basketball game. At least, that’s how Toby prefers to remember the game.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macaron/gifts).



> Originally posted to LiveJournal in January 2016. Written for macaroncey for Oz Magi 2015. The request:
> 
> Pairing/Character(s): Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller or Tobias Beecher/Elliot Stabler  
> Keyword/Prompt Phrase: "Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore." Sandman, Neil Gaiman  
> Canon/AU/Either: either  
> Special Requests: Kid!fic or Teen!fic. Before Oz and Lardner (when they are young). I'm ok with angst and h/c (i like it) if there is an happy ending.  
> Story/Art/Either: story 

** December 31, 2005; 10:00 pm **

Toby loved his nephews dearly, but he found them exhausting nonetheless.

He and Chris sat quietly on the over-sized couch in Harrison Beecher’s game room and watched in bemusement as Angus’s boys ran in circles around them. Toby was pretty sure that they had all been on a non-stop sugar rush since Christmas Day. Now it was New Year’s Eve, and, incredibly, the food and drinks and general merriment at his parents’ annual party seemed to be causing an impossible escalation in their energy levels.

Toby leaned toward Chris and whispered apologetically, "I honestly thought they'd be asleep by now. Otherwise, I never would've offered to keep an eye on them."

"Think they’ll really be able to stay up ’til midnight?" Chris asked under his breath. "Or will they crash and burn?"

"What time is it now?" 

"Just after ten."

"Good god, is that all?" Toby asked in disbelief. Shaking his head, he muttered, "I can’t take two more hours of this."

Toby began hunting for the remote control that operated the television. He found it on the coffee table, buried among the crumpled napkins, the half-eaten cookies, and several empty cans of Coca-Cola.

As he fumbled with the buttons, Toby called out to his nephews, "Hey, why don’t we see what’s on TV?"

Like drawing moths to a flame, the flickering light from the television screen caught their attention. The boys ran to the couch en masse and collapsed onto it, crowding Chris and Toby closer together. Then they started bouncing in unison.

"Let’s watch cartoons!"  
"No, I wanna watch sports!"  
"Football!"  
"Who’s playing?"

Toby began flipping through the various sports channels. "All these football games are blow-outs," he observed. He paused when he reached a basketball game. "How about this instead? Basketball is a lot more exciting. It’s my favorite sport."

"Basketball? Why?"  
"Does Uncle Chris like it, too?"  
"Did you ever play on a team?"  
"How long have you liked it?"

Toby looked over at Chris. Softly, he answered, "For as long as I can remember." 

Chris returned Toby’s gaze and smiled at him knowingly. In seconds, memories from twenty-five years ago came rushing back as though the events had happened yesterday…

 

** December 1980 **

Toby concentrated his attention on the scoreboard located at the opposite end of the basketball court. Specifically, he focused on the clock, watching it intently as it ticked down. He sighed to himself and tried not to think about all the other things he’d rather be doing.

He blamed his parents for this sorry situation. Despite Toby’s misgivings, they had insisted that he play a high school sport. They thought it would look good on his college applications, earning him the noteworthy distinction of being A Well-Rounded Individual With Varied Interests. The fact that Toby possessed little-to-no athletic ability was considered a minor deterrent. 

Selecting which sport to play had been a challenge, to say the least. Several possibilities had been immediately eliminated from consideration due to the fact that Toby was completely incapable of swinging an object to make contact with a ball. His mother had ruled out football and hockey as inherently too dangerous, a stance to which Toby had no objections.

Toby had briefly considered wrestling, comforted by the knowledge that any opponent would be of a weight equal to his own. Then he heard the bone in Arthur Wiener’s leg snap, and wrestling was struck from the list, too.

The only swimming stroke that he had ever mastered was the dog paddle, and the bowling alley’s omnipresent residual smoke irritated his eyes and gave him a headache. In the end, basketball emerged as Toby’s sport of choice, as it was the only option left. 

Toby did have some experience with the game, thanks to those mandatory physical education classes back in junior high. Nevertheless, given his limited ability, he still wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to earn a spot on his prep school's team. He suspected that his family’s generous donation toward the construction of the school’s new weight room had played a large part in the decision-making.

So, here he sat in his designated spot at the very end of the bench. He was considered an alternate third-string player at best, and the coach used him sparingly; some games, he didn’t play at all. It appeared as though this current game was going to be one of those.

They were playing against a team at a hardscrabble public school located in the "rough" part of the city. Some liberal-minded administrators had decided it would be beneficial for the students at Toby’s school to observe and interact with kids from other walks of life. And these kids looked and acted like they’d just as soon cut you as let you score a basket on them.

From the beginning, the opposing team's players had behaved as though they had major chips on their shoulders. Their trash-talk during the game had been brutal and incessant. The first half of the game had been close, but then Toby’s team started to pull away in the second. That’s when tempers (short to begin with) flared on both sides, and the play turned dirty. The number of cheap shots increased; technical fouls were called on both teams. 

Now, Toby’s team was up by a comfortable margin with two minutes left. Toby was calmly anticipating the end of the game when the referees had to call time-out. Medical attention needed to be given to an injured player on the floor.

Toby bent over to re-tie his shoes, taking great care to make sure the ends of the laces were even.

Suddenly, he became aware of a hot, sweaty body practically pushing him off the bench. Usually, Toby was oblivious to his teammates as they methodically got up or sat down next to him over the course of a game. He quickly realized that, this time, the coach had basically forced a player to sit down on top of him. The coach was furious, and Toby watched in amazement as he yelled at the guy next to him. For it wasn’t just any player who was on the receiving end of his verbal abuse—it was Jackson Vahue, the star of their team. 

"WHAT KIND OF FOUL WAS THAT?! You can’t control yourself? What happens if you get a game suspension?! What'll we do if you can’t play next week?"

"But, coach, he started it!" argued Vahue. "That whole team is out for blood!"

"I don’t care! You’re out! Sit!" The coach spun around to face Toby. "Beecher, get out there! You're up against Keller!"

Toby froze in place while the world around him flipped upside down. "What?" he managed to squeak.

"You heard me! Keller! Number 14! Go!"

Toby frantically jumped up and ran full-speed across the court, reaching his teammates on the floor in record time. He glanced at them for encouragement, but no one would make eye contact with him. On the other hand, the guys from the opposing team stood there and glared at him, practically foaming at the mouth. 

Toby's heart raced as the injured player was helped off the floor. Slowly, he began to realize that he had been sent out there to bear the brunt of the other team's rage. For all intents and purposes, Toby was his team's sacrificial lamb being sent to slaughter. While it was possible that he would simply draw a retaliatory foul, the more likely scenario involved Toby succumbing to a devastating injury.

Players began moving around to get in position for the free throw attempt. Toby found Number 14 and took his place next to him. Against his better judgment, he turned to look at the guy.

Keller wasn't much taller than Toby, but he seemed like twice his size. Hard muscles were everywhere. Toby caught his breath. This kid could crush his bones like they were twigs. 

Toby’s eyes drifted, and he took in every inch of the guy's body in a matter of seconds. The biceps bursting out of the sides of Keller's jersey lead to Toby's downfall. He felt a warm sensation settle in the depths of his groin, a feeling that he tried desperately to ignore. 

Toby swallowed the lump in his throat and looked Keller in the face. Keller's mouth was twisted into a murderous sneer, but it was his blazing blue eyes that made Toby’s knees weak.

Toby’s standard defense mechanism was often an ill-advised attempt at humor, and this precarious situation proved to be no exception. Nervously, he smiled at Keller and blurted, "I’ll give you twenty dollars if you promise not to kill me."

Keller’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, he leaned in close to Toby, and Toby smelled the intermingling of sweat and cheap soap. That warm sensation in his groin intensified.

"I don’t want your money," Keller hissed. He looked Toby up and down, and then his face softened slightly. Keller smirked, and he added, "But I’ll take a blowjob."

Toby’s jaw dropped to the floor in shock.

He never heard the referee blow the whistle. He never saw the ball fly toward the basket, nor did he see it bounce off the backboard. He was only vaguely aware of the mass of muscles that rushed past him. But he definitely saw Keller’s ass as he jumped in front of Toby to grab the rebound and score.

Toby also definitely heard the screams of his coach from the bench.

"BEECHER! What the hell? I’ve seen trees that move more than that!"

Toby’s face flushed. He turned awkwardly toward the bench to acknowledge the criticism with a nod of his head. And that’s when he heard Jackson Vahue’s voice—not loud, but loud enough.

"Too bad Beecher doesn’t make like a tree and leave." 

All of Toby’s teammates on the bench laughed in response to Vahue's joke.

Toby turned back away, mortified. He wasn’t going to cry. He was too old to cry. And this certainly wasn’t something to cry about. But his eyes burned anyway.

Toby positioned himself to receive the in-bounds pass and looked around for Keller. He realized that Keller had his back to him, his hands on hips. He was staring in the direction of Toby’s laughing teammates—Jackson Vahue, in particular.

The whistle sounded again, and Toby somehow managed to get the pass without dropping it. He turned, and Keller was back in front of him, a furious expression on his face. 

Toby dribbled the ball up the court while Keller’s body and arms and muscles prevented any passing attempt. Toby paused, then made a sudden move to his right. After a beat, Keller moved surprisingly to _his_ right, freeing Toby up. Toby lunged, unobstructed, toward the basket and threw the ball up. 

The ball rolled around the rim and appeared to be headed back off to the side. Keller jumped up to get the rebound. Toby saw his fingertips graze the ball’s surface. But Keller didn’t pull the rebound down. Somehow, instead, the ball fell back toward the basket and down through the net.

Toby had actually scored a basket—his first. Two points for his team.

Toby knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn’t care. He pumped his fist in the air and looked back at the bench for his teammates’ reactions, Jackson Vahue’s in particular. 

But Vahue was busy wiping his face with a towel. The other players were all talking and laughing amongst themselves. His coach was studying his clipboard. No one gave any indication that they had noticed that Toby had scored. Even his teammates on the floor carried on as though nothing unusual had happened.

Toby’s grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Dejected, Toby turned back toward the action and caught Keller staring at him with a curious expression on his face. They made eye contact just as the horn sounded, signaling the end of the game. And that's when Keller flashed Toby a small, irresistible smile and gave him a wink. 

Toby stood motionless, not quite comprehending what had just happened. But as fireworks exploded before his eyes, he marveled at the possibility of love at first sight.

***

Toby was the first one out of the visitors' locker room. The idea of hanging out and socializing with his teammates wasn't particularly appealing right now, especially when there was someone else who he really wanted to talk to.

He stood in the hallway, waiting impatiently. And then Keller emerged, alone, looking just as good in street clothes as he had out on the basketball court. Toby mustered his courage and walked straight up to him. Keller’s eyes sparkled, but his expression was neutral.

Attempting to act casual, Toby nodded his head and said, "Thanks for not killing me."

The corner of Keller's mouth twitched. "Yeah, that's right. Where's my money?"

Toby raised an eyebrow. "You didn't want my money, remember?"

"Well, it seems like I should get somethin'," Keller replied. He shifted closer toward Toby and added suggestively, "I'm still open to alternate forms of compensation."

Toby laughed nervously, wondering if he was serious. Another spellbinding grin broke out across Keller’s face, and Toby prayed that he was.

He stuck out his hand. "My name’s Toby," he said.

"Chris," Keller answered with a shake. 

Once again, Keller—no, Chris—slowly looked him up and down. "So, tell me, Toby," he finally drawled. "What’s a nice guy like you doin' with a bunch of motherfuckers like them?" Chris tossed his head toward the visitors’ locker room.

Toby cleared his throat before grumbling, "My parents think I'll have a better chance of getting into a good college if I play a sport of some kind."

"Ah. Bein’ a member of the chess club doesn’t count?"

Toby shook his head and answered, "Apparently not," before realizing that Chris was teasing him.

Toby’s teammates started streaming out of the locker room, walking toward the parking lot where their chartered bus waited to take them back to school. Toby knew his time with Chris was running short. His mind raced for ideas to ensure that he would see him again. 

Quickly, Toby asked him, "Do you have any holiday plans? Are you free on New Year’s Eve?"

Chris got a strange look on his face. "I’m not sure," he answered slowly. "I was thinkin’ New Year’s Eve might be a good time to knock over a couple of liquor stores. Lotta cash, ya know?"

Again, Toby couldn’t tell if Chris was being serious or not. He really hoped he was joking.

Toby decided to ignore the response. "Well, every New Year’s Eve, my parents throw a great, big party for their friends. Maybe you could come over? It would be nice to have someone my own age to celebrate with, for a change."

Chris looked down at his feet. Shaking his head, he said, "Ah, Toby, I don’t know…"

"There’ll be minimal adult supervision," Toby elaborated. He promptly added, "And lots of champagne."

Chris looked back up, his eyes wide. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I promise you, you won’t regret coming," Toby vowed. He drew a big breath to steady his nerves and leaned closer to Chris. "I’ll make sure you have a good time," he whispered, in what he hoped was a seductive tone.

Surprisingly, Chris froze in place, and Toby feared that he had gone too far. Maybe he had read everything wrong. The moment stretched, until Chris finally said, "All right, then. Gimme your address."

Toby held back a sigh of relief as he fumbled around in his gym bag for a pencil and piece of paper. Information was exchanged as the last of the stragglers emerged from the locker room.

"Well, I gotta go. The bus is waiting," Toby explained in a rush. "So, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks?"

"Yeah, sure, I’ll see ya then," Chris responded flippantly. But Toby noticed how carefully he folded the paper with Toby’s address on it before placing it inside his pocket.

Toby turned and began walking away. Suddenly, he stopped and looked back.

"Hey, Chris, I forgot to ask you something."

"What?"

"Did you intentionally tap that ball into the basket for me?"

Chris gave a small laugh. He grinned at Toby and said, "Now, why would I do somethin' like that?"

Toby grinned back at him. He held Chris’s gaze for a beat, then turned around and headed toward the parking lot to get on the bus. 

With every part of his body tingling in excitement, Toby knew that basketball would be his favorite sport for the rest of his life.

 

** December 31, 2005; 11:55 pm **

Angus and his wife tip-toed into the room. Mouthing "thank you" at Toby and Chris, they bent over and carefully gathered their sleeping sons up off the couch. As they gently carried them away, Toby and Chris both sighed in relief. Toby gingerly rubbed the circulation back into his thigh where one of his nephews had been resting his head. 

Just as he had hoped, the boys had drifted off in the waning minutes of the basketball game. Unfortunately, Toby and Chris had been stuck sitting there ever since, afraid of waking them. Chris had changed the channel to the Times Square countdown at some point, and together they had watched the festivities in silence. Now, they were finally free to join the party and bring in the new year with the other adults. 

They both stood up and stretched their legs, but neither of them made any movement toward the door. 

Nodding his head toward the images on the screen, Toby said, "Almost time."

Chris slowly wandered closer to him. He looked into Toby’s eyes and said softly, "I never know whether to say 'Happy New Year' or 'Happy Anniversary’."

Toby tilted his head in contemplation. "I suppose it’s a matter of looking forward to the future, versus celebrating the past," he reasoned.

"There are parts of my past that I'd like to forget," Chris mumbled. "I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met you."

Toby dropped his hand against Chris’s chest and smiled. "Probably in a maximum-security prison," he teased.

**_\- Ten! - Nine! - Eight! -_ **

Chris returned the smile, and Toby felt his hands settle on his waist. Toby slowly wrapped an arm around Chris’s neck. 

**_\- Three! - Two! - One! -_ **

They kissed, and it was just as electric and wondrous as the first time, precisely twenty-five years ago.

**_— *Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
And never brought to mind?* —_ **

"Happy new year, Toby."

**_— *Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
And days of auld lang syne?* —_ **

"Happy new year, Chris."

**Author's Note:**

> Credit: Lyrics to "Auld Lang Syne" adapted from the Scottish poem written by Robert Burns.


End file.
